Dance D'Amour
by Mandala Morgaine
Summary: Paire, setting in Paris and Bordeaux. Peter sweeps Claire off her feet, literally, as he searches for an end to the Company, but something is about to go Deadly wrong.
1. Chapter 1

1

She wanted so badly to escape from the suffocating gala, the kind my mother so tediously plans with her free time. I saw the boredom in her eyes and how it dulled the usual poised movements; it betrayed her to the large network of strangers gathered who frowned in disapproval. I found myself smiling, almost laughing, from across the yard.

I was not officially invited to the party; my mother had not wanted my presence to take away from Claire's time of transition. I won't 'lift her into higher social stature' as she would put it flatly, but, since I felt drawn to her like a moth to the flame, I came anyway. I can easily avoid detection from the distance, using the crowd as a shield to get close without attracting attention, so I entered the mill of socialites.

I don't know how, but in these large parties, people mill around without purpose and yet they seem to know of a hidden destination. It is highly speculated that the gatherings of the wealthy are chosen on how many know each other; they all seem to be friends, but I cannot remember ever having seen one talk privately with my mother. However unusual this may be, I can top it; a lot of them seem to know _me!_

I was hardly three feet across the fringe when I was assailed by an elderly French woman wearing shimmering blue and too-large pearls. She wore a smile as she poked me deliberately in the chest, but I was entirely confused by the jumble of words rushing rapidly from her mouth. It showed.

"Peter, how do you cause so much trouble?" she demanded. Slower, and in English. "Look at you! You're a mess! Vous avez toujours ete impetueux!" She looked around to see if anyone was staring at me before straightening my tie and hastily dusting off my lapels.

"I could have fixed that," I complained with a smile to my mother's private banker.

She made a ticking noise at me with a shake of her head. I sighed. "Je vous remercie, Mme Sheppard," I said awkwardly and caused her to laugh brightly.

"That's it; speak French! You're in Paris, after all." She walked away with a smile, knowing perfectly well that I had always disliked both our retreat house in Paris and the language I had been forced to learn as a child.

I snuck around several other people I recognized and moved toward the buffet tables where my presence would be overshadowed by the towering ice sculptures. They lined every buffet in the area, causing much ado over their beauty and grandiose nature. I was more interested in the foods- foie gras, fish in meunière sauce, tournedos, and the crème tarts. More than anything, I wanted crème tarts; I pocketed several with a graceful discretion and went on my way.

My path was casual enough. I walked along the buffet line with a whirlwind of other people, but unlike them I had my mind set on only Claire. I could see her, in a withdrawn circle from the others who steered clear of her youthful beauty. She was wearing a conservative green sun dress that was cinched tightly around the waist; the skirts ended slightly above her knees, flowing with her every swaying motion as she waited anxiously for someone to talk to her. For a moment I was breathless, seeing the full weight of her beauty like I had never been able to before.

She stood formally, hands clasped gently before her, and everyone was remarking on her quietly. But she was drowning; her hands were going to wring themselves raw in a few short minutes if she did not get some relief. I looked around, suddenly suspicious that they would be watching her guardedly, and saw no one that could keep her in the confines of her isolation. I stepped forward and appeared in her circle, trying to be every inch the mysterious beau that most of the guests suddenly thought I was.

Her eyes were wide with shock when she saw me. "Peter?" she managed to gasp out before I gave her a large hug. "I thought-"

"It was Sylar after all, Claire, not me. Hiro killed him with his sword just when he was about to go nuclear. I thought we needed to celebrate, so I flew over as soon as Parkman and DL Hawkins were okay." Realizing guests were beginning to stare, I released her and stepped back. I could not keep myself from grinning.

"Are they okay?" She asked in concern. Her arms reached to me for answers.

I looked around; it was only a matter of time before the security knew I was here with Claire. "Let's go talk about this somewhere else, huh?" I took her firmly by the arm and led her into the crowd. Somewhere in the distance I heard exclamations of dismay as one of the ice sculptures slowly toppled from its post. Then I held Claire tight, enveloped the two of us in invisibility, and leapt to the skies.

She let out a thrilled scream and grabbed me tightly as we flew over nighttime Paris. I laughed and looked down at her smooth golden shoulders; they seemed to glow in the moonlight. We flew for a quarter of an hour, going at a leisurely pace so she wouldn't get too cold in her dress, and then I set us down in the Square de la Triniti.

We sat in the great shadow of the church that dwelt in the square, close together, and talked for hours of what had happened since she'd been forced to come to France what seemed like months ago. She cried on my shoulder when I told her how her father had been injured; she thought he was never supposed to be a part in any of this. All I could do to ease her pain was hold her close and tell her with all my heart that I loved her.

"Je t'aime, Claire," was all I could say to her. I love you. It was freedom to say these words to her, yet I understood she could never know how I felt. I had to be strong for her- I had to be able to hold in my heartache. I sighed heavily and finished my thought. "Mais il va me tuer qu'on ne peut jamais savoir." Yes, it would kill me that she couldn't know.

She pulled back and searched my eyes with her own. Then, to my surprise, she enveloped me in her arms and kissed me. It was not the chaste kiss that it should have- must have- been. I entwined my hands in her hair and kissed her in return, feeling the passion and belonging that had been missing with so many other women.

Time stood still for that time, but at last we retracted from each other breathlessly and simply stared in amazement at the line that had been blurred. She seemed to shine vividly in the lights of Paris, lips reflecting the street posts with a magical effect. I was completely under her spell.

"Peter," she said then slowly. My heart sank as I saw her tears, not sure of what sort they were. "We belong; I don't know why, but we do. I love you, too, Peter." As she said this, she dissolved into tears as gray as the London rains.


	2. Chapter 2

2

I tried to calm her tears- a miserable performance- with my words as she cried. Eventually I came to realize that it was impossible to do so and simply held her. Claire's mind was so clouded that I was sure not even Parkman could have been able to make sense of it- I shut out the power, not wanting to know what she was thinking.

That's a lie. I was dying to know; I just didn't want to steal the answer from her.

I felt the first drops spatter on my head and looked up. I was angry at the weather for interrupting the moment. As the misted rain of Paris began to fall, I parted it so that Claire would not become wet. It took her several minutes to realize that it was raining, in fact.

She stood up in what I assume was amazement at the rain which glowed off street lamps. It was her first Parisian rain. I smiled at the warmth in her eyes- the softness there that did see beauty in the world. She glanced up, saw rain striking against what should have been thin air, and then looked down. Straight into my eyes.

"Let's dance, Peter," she said softly and, taking my hands, placed them on her waist. She in turn held me tightly, and we swayed under the falling rain. The air was so bright with shining crystals of water that I swore we were dancing in the moonlight. I closed my eyes and breathed her in, not wanting this moment to fade into the next.

Somewhere far off, I heard a quartet playing pieces to the beautiful symphony number Five of Beethoven. Only some of its poignant beauty was lost in the translation, and my mind swayed to the music. Its grace took me in, and Claire danced with me through the air, neither of us minding ourselves. She was melting to me and I to her, and the music was untamable.

We floated there on the airs of the dance, the music. I felt utterly weightless, like I was in Heaven, and I knew it was all because of her. My mind was jumbled, I could feel the fluttering in my stomach intensify with her every breath, and it was becoming harder to breathe. Somehow, some way, I masked my familial obligation of guilt and simply enjoyed her (It's harder than it looks, especially if you're from _my_ family).

It took Claire pulling away and gasping, "Oh my God, Peter!" for me to do the same. I must say, it broke the moment.

We were eye level with the four carved Virtues on the bell tower of the cathedral. From where we were hovering I could see 'Prudence' in all its glory. Out of safety I pulled Claire in tighter; happily, I noted that though she might have complained she nestled in until she found comfort. As I returned us to street level, I felt my heart beating faster in the proximity to her.

"Belle église," she laughed nervously and looked back to the towering church steeple we had just seen up close and a little too personal.

"Yeah," I said with a half-hearted laugh. "It _is_ beautiful; we should visit more often." That made her laugh, which made me laugh for a few minutes.

We were walking through the streets of Paris at night. Usually, this is a dangerous thing to do. Muggers and pickpockets are rampant at night especially- a fact most tourists are sadly unaware of- but tonight I was fairly certain that no one would try to attack us and get away with it. We were on the Rue de la Victoire and heading east.

"Peter, why are you here?"

Her question surprised me into silence. After several blocks I hesitated in stride and looked to her. The blush coming over me, I told her why. It was her turn to be shocked into silence and mine to wait.

Her voice was unsteady when she spoke with her pixy grin. Not because she was uneasy, but because the language was unfamiliar. "Ce soir, vous les miens. Il suffit de me donner l'heure actuelle, le monde n'aura pas besoin." Through it all her eyes were bold and daring… and frustratingly seductive.

_I was hers? Just take myself away from the world and be with her and I was hers?_ My breath caught in my throat and I looked at her. She was smiling at me in that girlish, flirtatious way that I had had trouble with when we'd first met. I could tell she wasn't lying.

"Claire!" I was undeniably surprised with her, but my scolding tone was completely see-through. We'd already disappeared from the ever-present radars of my mother; the only way anyone would find us is if Molly Walker told them. I doubted anyone close could reach her right now with Suresh and Parkman watching after her double-duty.

"I'm serious, Peter," she said with enough gusto to fully convince me that she was.

"I know." I looked up at the Victoire Hotel with its flickering neon sign that also would surprise a tourist. If ever there was a more pathetic place than this, I haven't seen it, but it's where I was staying for the time being. I knew I was being ridiculous after flying across the Atlantic just to see her and tell her all this- to maybe get _this_ reaction.

"Kiss me," she demanded of me with mischievous tapping of the toes. I couldn't help but laugh at the way it reminded me of the imperious Angela.

"Why?" I sighed and looked around for any passer-bys.

"Pfft," she dismissed my words and came in closer to me. "You've done it before," she whispered into my ear. I bit my lip at the torment she was putting me through. Oh what the Hell. It was just one more kiss.

Except that it wasn't. She slid her tongue against mine and pulled me in close as I did the same to her. My apprehension was instantly gone the moment we stood in the rain, stomach to stomach. I kissed her again and pulled her in even closer; she shivered in a breath as I moved down and kissed her bare skin just above the sternum.

The street disappeared and was replaced by a hotel room just above the obnoxious neon sign. I thanked Hiro, who would undoubtedly be shamed that I use my powers in such a non hero-like manner, and took out Claire's hair clip. She gave me a gentle push as she stripped me of my coat; I toppled backwards onto the creaky bed with a muffled laugh hoping that I didn't have more disillusioned tourists trying to sleep in the next room as we kissed again.


	3. Chapter 3

Chapter the Third

That night was the best of my life. Even though the neon sign kept us up far longer than we'd anticipated, even though I knew morning would come, and even though I was riddled with so many types of guilt that they were unimaginable. So, other than _that_, the night was the best of my life.

Morning came suddenly, a noticeable and startling change in mood. Suddenly the world was abuzz and the halls were swamped with the worst sort of people: early risers. I made a sour face at Claire, whose eyes were still half closed in sleep, and leaned across her to check the clock. It said 8AM; it had to be lying. I groaned and flopped back onto the bed with an internal alarm screaming _Too Early_!

Beside me, Claire purred and nestled back against me. I looked down and felt myself smiling despite the arguably frustrating lack of sleep. She was just so beautiful, so golden against my pale skin. While she was a tanned belle from the south, I was just a pale New Yorker. The odds were incredibly slim that we ever would have made out- let alone love- in another life.

I didn't want to get up and disturb her, but I had to. I had to be up, I had to be about, and I had to make an appearance in Bordeaux in two hours. Grumbling, I slid away from her and off the bed before padding to the closet for some extra clothes. By the time I heard Claire beginning to stir I had already closed the bathroom door and turned on the shower.

I was midway through shampooing my head with the most abrasive shampoo known to man when the door opened. For a second my heart stopped and I froze with it, every muscle tensed and ready to freeze time or teleport. Just as my mind was demanding to know how they'd found me, I saw a small hand in the space between the curtain and the wall.

"Peter?" Claire asked me, doing her very worst to sound sheepish; I could hear her smile from behind the curtain. "Are you decent?"

I laughed and peeked my head through the gap. She was wrapped in my shirt from the night before, and it wasn't doing anything for her. "I should ask _you_ the same thing, but it would depend on what you meant by decent."

Catching my smirk, she looked down to smile without me noticing it. Too bad for her that I'm telepathic. I met her eyes evenly when she glanced back at me and watched in amusement as her breath caught. Mine almost did at that moment- I almost discarded my plans for the moment- but then I was back in control.

I breathed out, reminding myself it was time to play it safe. "You want a shower? I can get out-"

She stopped me short by pushing me out of the way and getting in. I stared in disbelief as the water rushed over her, crushing my white shirt against her body, and then I believe that I swallowed hard. She spoke before I could, voice a whisper that was still audible through the blood rushing in my head.

"I had to be with you if just for a few more minutes," she said and pressed her body against mine in a soft hug. I noticed that she held back a sniffle, a tear it would seem. "I know you've got to leave, Peter. I accept that no one can know we were together- I can get that. But you have to know that the morning will be so cold for me once you leave. I don't know if I can go back to them: Angela, Nathan, Heidi, the _chauffeur _for Pete's sake!"

I felt like crying for her; not so many years ago I had been just like her, stifled and alienated by my own people. Just like her I'd had no one to stand by me. I held her against my chest and let the water run over us without pause. In time I moved so the rest of the horrendous shampoo would forever be gone from my scalp. Then I kicked the water off with one foot and pushed aside the curtain telekinetically so we could float through unhindered. I grabbed a towel, wrapped it around her and cinched it tight before going for my own.

"God, Claire," I sighed. "I know how you feel."

She looked up at me in disbelief and I couldn't help but smile at her skepticism.

"No, I really do get it." I chuckled and brushed a wet tendril of hair from her face. She began to smile, and it was the loveliest thing I'd ever seen. I had to lean in and kiss her; I had to fall into the moment completely and utterly. I had to be in love.

_Taser Petrelli; the girl, too, if she resists. Inject the serum, take the girl. _The voice was like a bloody megaphone in my head. My head jerked up and all my senses momentarily expanded to encompass the entire hotel; we were surrounded, they screamed at me, and soon to be targets.

"Peter?" Claire had backed up a bit and was looking into my eyes fearfully. "What's wrong?"

"They found me!" I gasped, again hearing the voice repeat its commands. I looked down to Claire, feeling more desperate than I looked, "Quick- get dressed _now_!"

She nodded and ran to get her clothes. I jumped into mine hurriedly, tangling myself several times in my rush. I cursed and that finally seemed to work; my clothes came on much easier afterwards. Claire was standing before me suddenly in her gown- which, oddly enough, seemed far too fancy for being on the run- and looking at me in expectant amusement. I looked down at my half-buttoned shirt and growled.

"What's going on, Peter?" she asked breathlessly as I grabbed my wallet and stuffed it into my pocket. I grabbed her tight and closed my eyes in concentration. Suddenly we were grappling with the wind on top of the Louvre.

"Are you alright?" I shouted over the wind. She nodded even as a gust of wind swept her hair wildly. I covered the two of us in invisibility and brought us down to firm ground. This day was not going half as well as I'd hoped.

"Peter-"

"I know. I'm thinking." That wasn't a lie; I was honestly trying to figure out the best course of action. It was now obvious that Claire couldn't return to Angela, and I couldn't let her be captured by the Company. Who could know what horrific things she would endure there?

I opened my eyes, mind made up, and shook my head at her conspicuous attire. My raised eyebrows and uneasy expression must have gotten her attention because she volunteered to buy new clothes immediately. I nodded in affirmation as I reached into my pocket and pulled out my debit card. When I was through with Claire Bennet, no one would recognize her in disguise- not even her own father.

Smiling, I took her arm and we walked together into the morning tourist traffic.


	4. Chapter 4

Chapter 4

Half an hour later a new woman was standing before my eyes in the boutique. My eyes appraised her closely until she squirmed in place ever so slightly and began to turn pink.

Finally I nodded decisively and gave my agreement on the outfit. "It suits you, as far as my manly instinct can tell." I smiled as she rolled her eyes and flitted back to the changing room.

In almost an instant she was smiling before my eyes and ready to check out; reluctantly, I pulled out my debit card and gave it the most use it had seen in months. Besides stopping here at the tourist's overpriced haven, we had also been to several other places quickly and the hair-and-makeup salon where Claire had been remodeled. I'm still not sure whether or not to be happy about that one.

When one's heart lurches and he begins to realize that he has some _incredible_ amount of like- if not love- for a girl, when he crosses the Atlantic to see her, it is a small bit disconcerting that she has to change appearance from what he remembers her as in the first place. I met Claire as a golden-haired girl with sparkling **blue **eyes. Let's just say that I felt a twinge of pain when she walked toward me, _green_ eyes peering out from short bangs and straight sandy-brown hair.

That is trivial, really. I'll move on with the story.

I filled her in on the situation as briefly as possible. In short, I told her that there were some dangerous people who had to be stopped. _Wow_ is that a bit ridiculous to buy into when I think back. But they really were dangerous, and they really did have to be stopped.

The cab pulled through the gate and into an ancient parking lot which was protected on all sides by the classic building that ran its way in a large, angular loop. I slid out and turned to help my 'business associate' from the automobile. She straightened herself out properly and looked around with an air of boredom before sweeping her large sunglasses down over her face.

"We'll walk along the Quai Louis XVIII when this is all said and done," I promised with just a breath. "seulement deux d'entre nous."

"Didn't the French kill him?" she said. I sensed the sarcastic tone which implied my idea was not a romantic one.

"That was his father," I replied sourly. "Though he died unfortunately, too. Do you want to hear about it? It's interesting."

"Some other time perhaps," she said under her breath as I knocked on the doorbell.

"Suit yourself."

The outdated door opened and was answered by a dry old man with little in the way of both good looks and humor. I faced off against him solemnly, my mouth struggling to maintain a rigid line as I greeted him.

"à ce que je dois l'honneur?" He was looking at Claire.

"He wants to know why we've come," I told her to calm the confusion.

"Doesn't he know?"

"Yes."

"Tell him again," she said. I heard her unease at the situation growing in the sharp tone of her voice.

"Nous devons parler avec Marc," I replied to the man.

"You mean Charles," he corrected in broken English.

"I think the man's name was Greg," Claire said softly. He turned toward her with a sharp glance. "April Gein," she continued. "I'm a bit pressed for time now, so can we dispense with all these pleasantries?"

His voice tightened; he had been beaten. "Suivez-moi." He turned away and let us follow freely into the depths of the great building.

I walked beside Claire, every sense struggling to detect the slightest threat, with one hand pressed softly in the small of her back. She drifted against me- I still don't know if she did it on purpose- and I became painfully aware that she had used my newly bought deodorant; pinpoints of light swam in my eyes that I could hardly suppress. Everything she did- _everything_- I found entirely too sexy. She made my entirely volatile situation seem completely surreal, like I was in no danger.

"M. Murdock," the crypt keeper said and let us into a large office roughly four times the size of my dive of a hotel room. He shut the door behind us and we were left alone with the man behind the desk.

Monsieur Murdock, a grave looking gentleman who contrasted the bright river scene that lay just beyond his windows, stood briefly from his leather chair to greet us. He turned to me after kissing Claire's hand and said slyly, "Je vois que vous avez un bon goût des femmes comme vous le faites votre vin."

"My associate only, I assure you," I replied with a grin that spoke otherwise.

"I didn't catch all of that," said Claire slowly, processing the French furiously in her head. "What did he say?"

"I have excellent taste in wine and women," I said smugly before turning to inform M. Murdock that my associate would be here to observe and report the details of the conference to our superiors.

That last bit was a lie. Could you tell? For a moment I almost believed it myself; it would have made life so much easier- to be able simply to report all this mess to someone with a bigger badge.

We spoke quickly and quietly, a passable opera playing on a loop in the background to shut out the casual listener. By the time we were done speaking- an hour later- I had convinced the man to let us view his product in the warehouse district across the river. Claire, thrown off by our quick shot conversation, was surprised when I told her that we were going to rendezvous at the place the next morning.

"Where are we going to stay in the mean time?"

"I have a place." She raised one eyebrow and I got the message.

After dinner I ordered a room in a more reputable hotel- one with a working television. I didn't see the urge to watch French TV until I heard the news from the bathroom. In an instant I was out of the shower and wearing a hastily wrapped towel in front of the screen. Claire's picture was on the screen; she was an American tourist lost- presumably kidnapped- in Paris.

I was selfish enough to thank God no one knew she was with me yet.

"You've been kidnapped, Claire," I said softly. I wasn't quite sure how she would take being the object of a nation-wide search, having thousands of people looking for her face or body.

She snorted in disbelief- not necessarily a bad sign- and took off her suit-jacket. My eyes were caught in her seductive manner; I couldn't move. "I suppose I have been," she said, "though it's not as bad as I thought it would be." She pulled me closer to her, down onto the bed, and kissed me.

"Mon Dieu," I said as I tried to catch my breath, "Je t'aime."

There are things you can resist and things you can not, and both are framed in the pounding blood that dulls out other sounds. I could not resist her, not even if I tried; it was too late for me. Claire had caught me in the snares of love- I'd known that since the moment I met her but never expected it to be like this.

She ran her fingernails up my chest, sending shivers through my body like- how cliché- electricity. My vision blurred, and when it cleared she was pushing me down with one hand and unbuttoning her shirt with the other. She bent down and kissed my neck, and for the first time I realized that the TV was still on; Claire noticed my eyes stray and pulled my attention back.

"Leave it on," she breathed. I propped myself on my elbows just enough to reach her mouth and kiss her. Then she was pulling away, leaving me confused enough to hesitate. My muscles tightened almost painfully as she rose above me like a goddess and suddenly there was _absolutely _no going back.

_Oh God,_ I thought hazily. _At least she started it._


	5. Chapter 5

**I don't own Heroes or the 69 Eyes song of the same name. I did borrow them both for my own sordid uses, however. Please review for me. ~Mandala M.**

5.

The tone in the morning was decidedly different. I could feel the change and wondered how it had stolen over us in the night while we slept. Any playfulness had disappeared; the room held an empty aura of distrust and deceit. I looked briefly to Claire and smiled at her sleeping face as if I could offer some comfort of what was surely to come; then I slid out of bed and into the shower.

The heat of the water did little for me. Today I found it suffocating, a physical reminder of the anxiety and dread that were plaguing me. For a moment I rested my head against the shower wall and struggled for breath. I don't know how I held it together in front of Claire; the enormity of our burden was mind bending.

A door opened somewhere to my right. It was followed by a small gust of colder air and the pad of bare feet. Claire went to the sink and began to brush her teeth furiously, the air of coquetry gone as we faced the truth. Neither of us moved to lessen the barriers between us and Claire spat out the toothpaste.

"How are we doing this today, Peter?" She said quietly. I could see the distorted image of her through the shower; she was facing the mirror, fists clenched at her sides, and her voice was tight.

"They have a weapon in there that is potentially the end of people like us," I said quietly. "I'm going into the warehouse alone to take care of it." I took a pause from scrubbing my scalp to hear her response.

"You're leaving me out of this?" Her head turned in my direction. I could visualize the hurt and anger in her eyes. It was justified; I had promised her that I would never treat her like her father had.

"I needed a chauffeur to make me look more official," I tried to explain, "so I'm going to need you to drive the getaway car."

She muttered something under her breath that sounded like _unbelievable_ and left. I hurried the rest of my shower and dressed, desperate to make her see that I needed her there for me. She was on the phone ordering room service in a mix of English and broken French when I emerged; not wanting to disturb her, I slipped out to pick up the uniform she would have to wear.

The food hadn't arrived by the time I returned. Claire was looking green, probably more to do with nerves than the lack of good food. I hung the uniform up in its dry-clean bag and gave her a hug. She returned it weakly before looking up at me with a pained expression.

"I'm sorry I took you out of the loop on this," I said, "but believe me when I say that I need you there with me. You aren't in a safe house across the continent – you are parked in a borrowed car down the street so that I can call you when I need to be picked up."

She nodded wordlessly and I kissed her forehead. She slid past me and went into the bathroom to dress. I double-checked that I had everything necessary with me, made sure that we were stocked in the hotel room, and sat down to wait. In two more minutes Claire emerged looking like a professional model – not something I should think at such a serious time – and as she leaned against the wall to study me, her stomach grumbled.

I picked up the phone and began to dial room service. Claire glided over and took the receiver from me. She hung the phone up and sat down on the bed, hands running anxiously over her legs.

"What was that?" I asked.

"I don't think I can eat," she said with a sniff, "and besides, we're going to be late if we stay any longer."

I checked the clock. She was right. I picked up our bags and placed an innocent kiss on her cheek before opening the door. She stepped out in front of me, my immortal angel, and waited patiently for me to lock the room. As I turned back, she took a duffel bag in each hand and stood stiffly. By the time I turned around she was no longer my Claire; she was my driver, a silent witness to my life that had been hired for the space of two hours. Nothing more, nothing less.

The game was afoot.

**Attn. I apologize to those readers who had to wait such incredible lengths to get any sort of update from me. As I said on my profile, I broke my computer last fall – which is not only traumatic from this stand point but because I had 70 pages of a novel written on it – and I have been trying to cope with the loss. Also, I did move, start college, get an apartment, work full time, and burn out. College is rough!**

**Be patient: I am back!**


	6. Chapter 6

Part 6.

The warehouse door opened in front of me and I was beckoned in with a slight wave of the hand. My shoulders snapped back and I held my head high, an austere look crossing my face that could make even Angela proud, and walked into the wide room.

It was a vast room with no room for cover if this proved to be a trap. The thick bubble glass was set high on the two-story high ceiling. From the small amount of damage it had taken over the years, despite the obvious fact that graffiti artists had broken in at some point to vandalize, it was obviously strong. I took note of the fact quickly and looked back to the men who were waiting for me.

They appeared, if nothing else, official. Though only two were standing here with their arms behind their backs, I was suspicious enough to sense out for others; there were, of course, several more guarding the rear exits. I stepped forward and shook hands with each man in turn and affording my guide into the building a curt nod.

"Thank you for seeing me, Gentlemen," I said. "I am quite interested in what you have to offer."

"We're interested in seeing the money," the short one with a fat neck said. I nodded and handed him a pamphlet of papers from my inner pocket.

"The money is in three separate accounts right now. It will be wired from the Caymans and Malaysia through several banks in Zurich before I give the "Okay" for it to be transferred here, to Bordeaux." I spoke with authority and allowed myself to forget that my life was at stake.

The other man nodded, apparently convinced, and turned toward the table lying in the middle of the room. I followed. The first man followed behind me, and I could hear his thoughts turn hostile as I continued forward. When we reached the table, however, he moved forward and helped unclasp the wooden crates with a smile.

What I saw was… unexpected. If anything was to be expected, it was not _bullets_. A thousand agencies across the globe had the use of bullets; I was looking for the Company's new product – the weapon that threatened the existence of thousands of people with Abilities. I was _not_ looking for bullets.

"Is this a joke?" I looked between the two men expectantly. They shared a glance before the second man answered with a smooth laugh.

"Oh, il est plaisante!" he exclaimed. "You are funny, Sir. This is only part of a shipment that was intercepted on its way to a facility called Pinehearst. It is… mortel. Deadly."

"Ces balles ne sont pas normal," said the First man. "Ils sont débilitantes."

"_All_ bullets are debilitating," I pointed out as I picked up a shell and examined it. "What makes these worth the money I am expending?"

"They will strip certain traits from the person who is hit. It is unstoppable, really."

I nodded as if agreeing, but my radar had just picked up something. I ducked to the floor, unable to get a read on what was happening as the first shot rang out. Rage at being duped came to the surface first; I sent out a shockwave that effectively destroyed every case of ammunition in the building. It exploded around me violently, striking the two men straight on. I watched in horror as they screamed and fell, their demises appearing to be much more painful than necessary.

Then I was up on my feet, running for some sort of cover, dodging zinging bullets as they whizzed past me. There was no time to do this manually – I had to _move_. Really move. Closing my eyes tight, I imagined Hiro and willed myself to be in the hallway. Just as I felt the familiar dissolution of molecules, I felt something else – something painful that could only mean one thing.

I was in trouble.

* * *

**And you guys thought I would NEVER post another chapter. Admit it, you were skeptical. (I was, too).**


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